Spun Gold
by lanesa
Summary: SeiferxQuistis. sometimes what you've been searching for your whole life has always been right there in front of you.


**Spun Gold**

                                                Final Fantasy VIII

_Where you go, go with all your heart._

The sky is azure.  A blue of many hues that matches the shade of her wide eyes perfectly, while the ocean sparkles, and the playful salt breeze is wafting through the cobbled sunlit alleys of the town.  

Yet there she is, the pretty one, who walks and bows her head, fair tresses that she pins up and is frightened to let free.  She is falling and there is no one who catches her.  

What she is doing here she doesn't quite know.  Doesn't quite belong anywhere, but she is used to the void within.  She thinks she has grown strong, impenetrable icy walls wrapped around and around, slicked through her insides, coated with layers and layers that have been delicately molded on throughout the years.  But oh, she is still so cold.    

She watches with envy as the children in their naivete play in the streets as their mothers wave to their fathers as the elders hum in their homes as the young ladies run to their lovers.  

None of them see the lovely one with the delicate features whose boots make no noise as she slips past.  

                                                            **

The pier is where she finds peace.  _Sometimes.  There is something about the tranquil waves in their ageless dance that soothes the waves of feeling _(anguish)_ in __her, even if for a moment.  It is where she walks to today, another step in her perpetual quest in seeking release, in pursuing peace._

            It is different today.  She feels the weatherworn wood beneath her feet and hears the cries of the seabirds before she even steps to the water's edge.  For a reason she's not entirely sure of, she stops and looks up, and there he is.         

            Tilts his head, fair hair ruffled by the breeze, sun-kissed skin facing the heavens.  The light glinting off the gleaming metal slung across his back dances across soft corners of upturned lips and warms the well-worn fibers of the gray he wears.  

And her breath catches in her throat.

_don't let him know you're here, don't let him make you want to be someone you can't.  don't look at him, don't let him know the way your heart jumps in your chest.  _

Yet she stands there and cannot help but drink him in quietly.  But he senses her, turns around, catches her eyes in emerald green pools.   

"Instructor."  His voice is laced with mild surprise, and she doesn't quite know what to do.  He sees her, when no one else has.

"Fancy seeing you. What brings you here?" A small corner of his mouth curves up in an all too familiar way.  She can feel those eyes roaming quietly over, her skirt, her hair, her face until she knows he can see right through her, and though she does not intend to she has laid herself bare before him.  Others are fooled by the icy masks she wears, but he is not.  She is transparent and he can _(always)_ see right through her.     

Lowering her eyes, she brings herself to pass him until she stands inches from the shimmering waters.  She does not mean to brush his shoulder.

He continues to watch her intently, and she is aware that he expects an answer.

"It doesn't matter." Her voice is a whisper, a shadow of what it had once been, and she moves as if to lose herself in the beckoning waters before her.

But an arm reaches out to grab her, and she realizes that he is holding her, his hand encased around her wrist, its grip steady and of steel.

In anger she raises her head defiantly, cerulean eyes wide and flashing, only to find herself caught once more in a sea of emerald from which she cannot tear herself away from.  

She wills herself to look away, realizing with unsettlement that she is frightened of those startling green eyes, so piercing, so discerning, so unexpected.  Frightened of drowning in them, frightened of losing herself within them, frightened of _being caught_.  

His fingers tighten around her slight wrist, and glad for the distraction she brings her eyes to look down.  But his touch sears through her skin, intense and fiery, in a way that seems so _(achingly) _familiar to her, something intangible and long forgotten.  She can almost feel it burning through her, and she shivers.

"Quistis." He murmurs almost silently, and _oh_, the sound of her name coming from those lips, they are rare jewels to be embraced and cherished, and beyond them, a strand of enchanting music almost imperceptibly, a melody she has not heard for an eternity. 

She sees his lips move, knows he is telling her more, but her ears are straining to catch again that fleeting melody she is sure she has known once upon a time, so she does not hear him.

And suddenly she is wide awake and dreaming.

**

they never listen to her, _never_.  Not when it comes to matters between the two of them; always snatching every opportunity to best the other, rivals from the start.  She hates to think of what they would be like when they grew up, and it makes her blood boil.  This time it is a dare from the withdrawn boy with the unruly brown hair, a challenge thrown to the winds to climb down to the secluded cove that none have been to.  It is taken without a moment's hesitation as the other with the golden hair goes to peer determinedly down the steep slope of hard earth.  She tries using authority and force, resorts to pleading and begging, all to no avail.  

            "Squall, don't be stupid! It's dangerous, Matron said—" But he merely shrugs his small shoulders and states quietly that he isn't _making_ anyone go down there.  Then they are both met with a smug smirk and narrowed green eyes as the other begins his descent.         

            Without thinking twice she runs after him but stops short as she reaches the edge and catches sight of the distant cove.  Matron had strictly made it clear that no one was to go down there; it was dangerous if the tide came in and they were caught in the cove with nowhere to go.  

"Stop," she calls after the boy.  "Wait, you'll get in trouble, don't be an idiot!"  

He ignores her as he continues on his way.  She swallows hard and before she knows it she has started down after his retreating form, slipping and sliding until she gathers speed and loses control, feeling as if her feet will slip out from under her at any moment and she will tumble unstoppable to the bottom.  Soon her arms flail for balance and her legs do stumble from under her; she falls hard and lands on her stomach with the breath knocked out of her.  There is nothing in front of her but solid earth and sharp rock.

But all of a sudden a hand is offered out to her, and she follows the line of the arm until his face fills her vision, mouth quirked into a small smile and emerald eyes flickering with _(gentle) _amusement. 

"Come on, let's go." So she takes his hand, his grip _(warm and inviting)_ of surprising strength that pulls her up to her feet again.  

"You okay?" At her brief nod he turns his back and continues downwards once more, but he still has tight hold of her tiny hand, and she is well aware of it.  He doesn't let go until they reach the cove _(together)_ where he releases her and stands victorious at the entrance, tilting his chin triumphantly and glaring up at the brown-haired boy who stands looking down.  He has won this round and without saying a word, he has made it clear to the world.

They sit there for a while, she with her skinned knees and he with his victory clutched to his chest.  

Then with his boyish innocence he offers her his hand again and she accepts it as he pulls her to her feet, but his actions towards her in the past few hours have puzzled her hopelessly.  Nevertheless it is time to leave already, for the                  

sunsets are always beautiful from that beach.  It is her spot, stretching her toes in smooth white sand on a tiny corner of the shore, a place where she runs to from Matron's house, anytime she needs space to think things through.  Here she is once again, but this time more doubtful and uncertain then ever before.  She is leaving, forever and for good, trundling off to a new home the very next day.  Leaving Matron's house and everything it holds behind, and she doesn't know if she should look back.  She is not sure whether to laugh or cry, to hope or dread.  She doesn't think she is ready for this, doesn't want to stay, doesn't want to leave, nothing makes sense in the world anymore.  She looks to the setting sun and crinkles her tiny brows, perplexed in thought.

"You shouldn't frown like that, Trepe.  It makes you look like a toad." 

She raises her head, startled out of her reverie and sticks out her tongue at the approaching boy, whose hair shines dusky gold in oncoming shadows of evening.  

"Thanks a lot, you meany."  She wonders how he managed to find her.  

He stands in front of her, staring down at her for the longest time, until she shifts uncomfortably.  

"What do you want?"

Finally he sits down next to her, small hands automatically shifting and piling damp sand into towers of might.  

"Are you really leaving?" he asks after a while, his eyes never leaving his sandy creation.  

She is startled by his question, surprised to hear a note of concern in his voice.  _Him_, of all the children—the bully, the rival, the boy who never cared.  _(maybe he does care after all)  _ "Yeah, I think so."

The boy is silent, but for the time being the stillness stretches and wraps around the two children, snug as a thick blanket, a comfortable serenity.  She feels the questions and doubts slowly fade away from the depths of her mind, and before she knows it time has passed swiftly over the two of them sitting companionably side by side.  Twilight has come, the stars tiptoe out from their hiding places to twinkle brightly in the expanse of darkness. 

She has been lost in her thoughts, a single question pressing against the edges of her mind, and she looks at the boy next to her who sits looking out over the sea, the one who hides behind strength, the one who mocks and taunts, but somehow the _(only)_ one who came to find her.  So she gives voice to her fears, a thing she has never done. 

"Do-do you think—it'll be okay?"  Hesitant, timid, she meets the eyes that now reflect the hazy color of the sea.  

He rests his chin upon his bent knees and gives her an impish smirk.   "Trepe—" 

Crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest she sighs exasperatedly.  "I have a name, you know.  It's _Quistis_."

All of a sudden he is completely serious as he raises his head to study her.  "Quisty, Quistis. _Quistis_," he says it slowly; trying, tasting it for the first time.  And everything becomes silent around them once again, encased in a different kind of stillness this time, as both children seem to hear a delicate melody sweep by them, fragile notes which enthrall their souls and causes their hearts to yearn.  

The fragment of song is gone before it is even known, but yet they remain motionless, raising faces to meet the night, gazing at tiny points of brilliance suspended in black, windows to faraway worlds. 

The boy turns to her, green eyes alight, meeting blue ones filled with wonder.  He leans down to brush his lips against her round cheeks, a clumsy first kiss, naïve and _(chaste, chaste)_ utterly unexpected; a surprise to both of them.  

"It'll be all right, Quistis." It is wisdom beyond his years, though none of them can understand just yet as their ears pick up the faintest chords of the song floating out into the endless night.      

He chooses to leave her then, gets up, brushes himself off and runs back towards the warm glow of the house, melding quickly into the shadows until all that's left to see is a dark blur.  She raises a hand to her cheeks, more confused than ever, and she can only stare after him as quiet

as a cat stalking its prey, she watches him warily, judging every motion, anticipating any move.  Her eyes follow his every movement, confident and sure as he moves with fluid ease, but still she is caught unaware as a blur of perilous steel flashes inches from her neck.  She jumps back with millimeters to spare and the lithe whip she carries snaps up and coils around cold metal, and there they stand, neither one giving an inch, glaring daggers as icy blue clashes with heated green.  The sounds of their heavy breathing surround them, until finally he breaks away, lips curving up in his _(distinctive)_ smirk, polished blade raised in mock salute.  

"Not bad, Trepe. Maybe next time you'll actually be lucky enough to scratch me." 

She tries to even her breathing despite the surge of anger flooding through her.  She is his instructor, she is _better_ than him, she should have _beaten_ him, shown him his place.  But _(such incredible promise)_

"It's **_Instructor_**," is the only thing she can manage to say to him, (_at least he will address her with some respect)_ as she watches him head towards the silver haired woman waiting on the opposite side.  And unexpectedly he faces her once more and this time he is _(almost)_ smiling. 

"Till next time, _Quistis_," he teases, and turns away from her.  Out of habit she opens her mouth with intent to correct him, but her name with his voice reverberates in her head until it is all she can hear, and she stays silent for a reason she can't quite

understand him at all.  Every time she thinks she has come close to figuring him out, he does something completely unexpected and she finds herself back at the beginning once again.      

She had never even considered the fact that he would have the nerve to break out of the disciplinary room, but break he does, showing her just how wrong she was about him—again.  Bowling over the SeeD supervisors and grabbing Hyperion before he leaps down the steps and out into the courtyard, he almost knocks her over in his hurry to exit the main gates. 

"What the hell are you doing?" she calls out in irritation as the papers she is carrying flutter out of her hands. 

"Saving the asses of some inexperienced SeeDs Cid _so_ kindly dispatched on a suicide mission this morning, Instructor." 

She sighs and mentally chastises him for his obstinacy.  "What makes you think they need your help?  Cid sent Squall and them for a reason, he must be fully confident that they are capable of handling themselves."

"Just doing my duty, Instructor."  He flashes her a smirk and is off again, eager to be out in the open world.  

In a panic she glances around her, seeing no one else capable of helping out.  An unqualified cadet acting alone on crazy impulse, especially one as wild as he didn't bode well for anyone.  With a heavy sense of duty being his _(former)_ instructor as well as a trained SeeD she realizes she needs to go after him. _(but maybe its more than that)_

Her scattered papers lay forgotten as she runs after him, calling for him to wait.    

He stops for her outside Garden, tapping his gunblade impatiently upon his shoulder.  Catching sight of her he displays his trademark smirk.  "Coming along for the ride after all, Trepe?"

They catch the last train out to Timber and onboard he is restless, prowling the confines of the train car viciously, feral and savage.  

"Sending a bunch of rookie SeeDs," he snarls.  "Are they out of their mind? They'll be slaughtered."  

She merely sits in her seat, feet crossed daintily, silently observing him.  So much pent-up rage, a storm of ferocity and violence just waiting to be released; she has an ominous foreboding of things to come.   

Once the train has arrived he is the first one out the door, threading his way towards the distant broadcast tower.  When the Galbadian sentries finally become suspicious of the two golden haired warriors streaking through town, glinting metal and coiled leather dispose of the sentinels with ease.  

But as reinforcements rain in their run turns into a sprint, chests heaving for air as their feet clatter up stairs, the entrance of their destination looming ever closer with each stride.  As they round the last stairwell she glances behind her in anticipation of the oncoming pursuit and her feet stumble out from under her.  She hits tile with a sickening slap as her palms break her fall, but even so she knows it is only moments before the Galbadian patrol will be upon her.  

A flash of gray and gold and he stands in front of her, grabbing her arm and gently tugging her up, hand clasping around her wrist and sliding down to take hold of her own hand in a comforting grip that suddenly seems so well known to her it is unsettling.  

"You alright?" Wide blue eyes meet _(concerned)_ green as a grateful smile turns a smirk into a brief grin.  

"Come on, then.  We're almost there."  

His hand covers her own for a moment, encasing slender fingers in a promising embrace and she is so confused by the contradictions that exist within him, one minute completely cold and indifferent, the next revealing a whisper of empathy and concern.  She cannot comprehend anything he does _(maybe he's not meant to be understood)_ but for a startling moment of clarity she knows she has lived this moment before and sweet nostalgia washes over her.    

The world comes crashing back when his fingers leave her own as he readjusts his grip on his blade.  The doorway to the tower is right before them; the darkness inside is beckoning.  Before she goes in she gazes wide-eyed at the back of his coat as he strides in without a moment's hesitation, and as he does so she knows for a certainty that after this, there will be no turning back.  After this, things will never be the same again.     

**

The world is spinning.  

She looks up at him, in her eyes a world of wonderment.  "Seifer," she whispers, afraid each word she speaks will shatter.  "Do you—can you remember?"  Can he see what she sees, can he piece together the broken shards of memory, can he recall what _(seemed) _a lifetime ago?    

"I didn't think you would."  The barest of sighs escapes his lips, as he lifts his hand to catch a wayward strand of silken gold and tucks it behind her ear.  

Suddenly what she wants most in the world is to simply be able to touch the curve of those lips, to trace the line of that scar, to run her fingers through sun-spun hair, to breathe in the scent of golden skin, to feel him close against her.  She calls herself crazy, unsure why these strange new emotions are erupting within.  _Too different, so unlike, a world apart. _

But when her name dances off his lips again she feels a tremor race through her entire being. 

"Can you hear it?" He searches her eyes until all she can see is piercing green, all that she _wants_ to see is an infinite emerald, stretching on to eternity.  Soon emerald sparks with _(bold)_ mischief as his mouth turns up in a lazy smile.

"_Quistis_," he teases again, and offers a hand _(to pull her up once more) _for her to take.  This time she takes hold without hesitation and unexpectedly he pulls her forward in a whirl of motion and there is laughter bubbling out of her until somehow she finds that they are standing _(so close!)_ together.  Suddenly she can't remember how to breathe, how to move how think at all, as the warm closeness of their bodies makes her heart strangely flutter.       

"Seifer," she finds herself whispering again, a soft sigh escaping her lips.  "Seifer."  

Deep emerald green gives her the courage she needs, and she tries to find the right words to tell him.  "I was falling…"

How to put it into eloquence? There is only feeling, only emptiness, but in this golden afternoon, that emptiness has suddenly disappeared, filled with a contentment and a fullness she has never known, but is just beginning to understand. 

And strong arms wrap around her slender frame as a warm forehead is pressed gently against her own.  She trembles under his embrace, and he presses himself closer, gentle lips grazing her ear.

"And I've caught you."  

They are unexpected words, but her heart takes flight with them, a gloriously free flight into unclouded cerulean skies.             

Fingers bury into golden hair, hands caress sun-kissed skin, cheeks press together, a fragrance of lilacs and spice linger in air.  Two souls, filling a yearning need that had been aching for far too long.  Two souls—_healing_. Together. 

He breathes against her smooth skin, leans in, captures her lips in the softest of kisses.  She snakes her arms around his neck and runs her fingers through spun gold as the kiss…courses like _(warm)_ honey through her veins.  And she gives herself up entirely.

She has found him. Here he is, shining and golden and glorious in all his badboy charms.  It is the missing part of her and she has found him. So different, complete opposites; he is _fire_, unpredictable predictability, precarious security.  

And because of that he fits perfectly.  

Underneath the slender curve of her neck and the broad line of his shoulders she can feel their hearts slowly beating…beating as one; with one beat, one rhythm.  Beyond them and around them, a melody sweeps by, strands of notes sweet and tender and lovely and _known.  _But this time it can be grasped onto, as tightly as he has her locked in his embrace, and she knows it, oh, she knows it, and recognizes it for what it is.

Because their souls are twined within each other, and their hearts are dancing, caught in one dance, spinning twirling soaring up so high, up so free, into an eternity.  

And she doesn't ever want to come back down.   

~*~

A/N: Sap! I know, I know, but it's the best kind! ^_^  This one is for all you quiefer lovers out there. And I know that this sort of thing has been done before, but — I just needed to _write_ this, get this out of my head onto paper.  Comments and suggestions (please?) ^_^

                                


End file.
